


All's Fair in Love and War

by typoqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Can't believe I just tagged it as angry sex, Demons, F/M, King of Hell, Kismesis, Knight of Hell, Smut, Supernatural AU - Freeform, omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typoqueen/pseuds/typoqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hate each other, can't stand one another, but are drawn like moths to the candle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Lair

Time travel was a funny thing. Abaddon had been near enough the ruler of Hell, then she hopped through a closet, and suddenly Crowley, of all demons, was the King. It made no sense to her, and in fact, she was outraged by it. She'd never had a problem with him before, since he was a mere Crossroads Demon and never got in her way, but here he was, high and mighty, as if he had any power over her. But Abaddon was as old as time itself, and had seen many more things than him. There was a deep and sinister power within her that could leave him a pile of ashes if she wanted to-- but something pulled at the pit of her stomach and told her not to destroy him.

Not completely, anyway.

She remembered that moment when she'd found him incapacitated, striking him, making his meat-suit bleed. It had felt good. She wanted more-- she wanted to hear him beg her to stop. There was a hatred she felt for him that was far deeper than that. It was a passionate longing to hurt him and for him to hurt her, and for them to compete with each other on who could spill the most blood. The ache grew too much for her to bear, and without a second thought, she vanished from her spot and reappeared inside his palace in Hell, which, by rights, should have been her palace. He looked up from his desk. His suit was a rich shade of grey that she wanted to smother with his blood, his arrogant face questioning her with each twitch of his cocky little smirk. She wanted to wipe it off of his face with a slap.

"You do realise, I could have half a dozen of my men in here in the blink of an eye, Abaddon," Crowley warned her, his smirk growing.

"And you realise I would decimate them," she replied, her gaze fixed on his face. 

"What do you want? Why are you here?"

"You know what I want, Crowley, don't play dumb."

"Me? Play dumb? Never!"

"Don't act cute, either."

"I can't help it, I'm just so adorable," he retorted with a mocking smile, resting his chin on his hand. 

He made Abaddon's blood boil. Her glare intensified, and she took a step towards his desk, putting her palms down on the wood as she leaned closer to him. Her painted lips were parted slightly, and she moved ever so close to his face, eyes poring into his like she was trying to dig them out (which, incidentally, she could have done). "I want you out of Hell. It's mine. Lucifer chose me. Lucifer made me what I am, and Hell is rightfully mine. I want a pretty little crown and I want you to kneel at my feet and tell me what a spectacular Queen I am. And I want you to apologise for stealing my title, and then I want you to beg for forgiveness." Abaddon had spoken quietly, her voice almost soft and sweet, but laced with hidden desires that went deeper than him simply begging. She wanted a fight, and she wanted him to say the same to her. There was a lot that she wanted that she couldn't quite say.

Crowley merely laughed. His deep, rumbling chortle filled his cavernous office, but Abaddon stayed perfectly still, not threatened by him at all. And then he did something quite surprising. Crowley suddenly stood up and reached out, cupping her chin with one hand to pull her to a standing position. With the desk still between them, he leaned over towards her and pressed his lips to hers. 

It was a forceful kiss, hard and punishing, like the way long lost lovers would kiss if they were reunited. But it was hateful too; he bit her lower lip and pulled at it slightly. For a split second, Abaddon was unsure how to react, but then she found herself kissing him back, one hand moving to his lapel and pulling him closer. Her legs were right up against the desk, the hard edge of the wood digging into the front of her thighs. 

Just as suddenly as he had kissed her, she snapped her head backwards and took a small step back. In a flash, her arm had reached out and slapped him sharply across the face, a menacing look in her eyes. The hatred was white-hot and piercing through her eyes, stabbing the air around them with tension and static. She could feel it from him too-- a mocking, sarcastic loathing emanated from him.

"My, my," he taunted. "Someone has a bit of a temper on them today. Not going to have a little tantrum, are you?" Crowley chided her, his tone designed to provoke. "Do it again, Abaddon. See what happens the second time you disrespect the King."

Something half way between a growl and a cry of outrage emitted from Abaddon's throat as she raised her hand across her chest and backhanded him hard on the other cheek this time. No sooner had her strike had connected, than he had vanished from in front of her.

"Nice," Crowley's voice was close to Abaddon's ear. He'd re-appeared directly behind her, looping one arm around her upper body and restraining her own arms against herself. She tried to wriggle free of his grip, but his meat-suit was much stronger than hers. Of course, she could have smoked out or just teleported away, but she didn't. The redhead couldn't understand why she didn't. 

Crowley's free hand gripped onto her waist then, digging in hard enough to bruise her vessel. Neither of them said a word as his lips found themselves pressed against her neck, crushing rough kisses into her skin, his teeth baring at one point to bite her, hard. She felt warmth as he left a small, thin break in her skin, and a little blood showed. For some reason, it felt good. The hand on her waist moved down, lower, to the top of her thigh, pulling teasingly at the fabric of her black trousers. Crowley trailed his hand to the inside of her leg, then back up, rubbing deliciously across the space between Abaddon's thighs. A small, surprised sound escaped her lips, and she felt herself tense up.

"Aren't you going to buy be a drink first, you ass?" she whispered hoarsely. Where she couldn't move her arms, she found herself leaning more against the desk, the wood bruising her legs now.

In a second, Crowley had chuckled softly against her neck, moving his hand to draw his favorite bottle of whiskey across the room and onto the desk in front of her. "Who needs to buy a drink when it gets delivered to me for free?" he said in an equally low voice. His accent infuriated Abaddon.

She was instinctively pushing herself back into him, and he noticed, reciprocating the movement.

With his free hand, Crowley poured a glass of whiskey and lifted to her mouth. "Drink, then," he told her, tipping the liquid into her mouth. Her cherry red lipstick left a lip-shaped print on the edge of the glass. Why was she doing as she was told? Why hadn't she vanished and left him? Why was she letting this idiot hold her like this? Perhaps she ought to turn the tables and pummel his face into the floor. She'd like that a lot-- maybe break his meat-suit's nose and make it crooked.

With the glass empty, Crowley refilled it and drank it himself, hurling the empty glass onto the desk so it smashed. Shards of broken glass flew everywhere, one of them slicing into Abaddon's thigh where it was pressed up against the desk, another into Crowley's arm that was holding her still. She laughed bitterly, amused by the situation, not caring about the minor flesh wound.

Releasing her arms, Crowley used both of his hands, to push her down so she was leaning bent over the desk with her hands on her wood. Tiny particles of glass cut into her skin, like little slices of lust and terror, worming their way into her palms. Abaddon didn't care; her mind was focused on the sensation of Crowley's hands gripping her waist, moving down towards her ass, his fingers pulling at the waistline of her trousers. He reached around and unfastened them, peeling them backwards and pushing them down, exposing her underwear-- red, silky, expensive-- for him to see.

It was then that Abaddon realised her _wanted_ him to treat her like this, and that was why she hadn't left already. As much as she wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him, she wanted him to do the same to her. He was laughing, his voice reverberating around her. She hated it. She hated him.

And suddenly, a sharp slap across her ass brought her out of her thoughts, and Abaddon was gasping, unable to contain her arousal now. He spanked her again, harder, making her body lurch forward, only to be wrenched back by his strong, forceful hands. Why was she _enjoying_ this!?

Crowley literally tore off her underwear, throwing it into the wastepaper basket at the end of his desk, his hands greedily roaming the bare, pale skin of Abaddon's meat-suit. He slapped her again, several times, leaving angry red handprints on her ass, making her squirm. 

"This is what you get when you cross the King, dear," he told her in a menacing voice.

His words were enough to snap Abaddon out of her stupor and she lifted up a fistful of glass shards, turning on the spot to hurl them at his face. Several pieces scratched his cheek, but he was otherwise unaffected. He was still smirking at her, although it was more playful and not so angry. Abaddon's fist closed around a larger piece of glass. It cut into her palm, but she ignored it, swinging her clenched fist into his shoulder, impaling the glass into his arm. 

"That hurt," Crowley muttered, a sudden darkness appearing in his eyes. 

"Good!" Abaddon laughed, enjoying the feeling of his blood on her hand, mixing with her own.

His arm lashed out quickly, taking the redheaded demon captive again, holding her by the waist. She tried to push him away, and beat her fists against his chest, but it was a half-hearted effort. Her palm connected with his cheek, but not as a slap-- as a caress. And they were kissing then, their mouths rough and hungry against each other, fierce and hot and full of lust. 

"I hate you," she said breathily between kisses.

"I hate you more."

 


	2. Match Made in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The office floor is as good a place as any, right?

Abaddon's hand tore at his smart suit, knowing that it would anger him. She ripped it clean off of him, the torn fabric falling to the floor. He growled into her neck and pushed her down on top of his ripped shirt and jacket. On top of her now, Crowley pinned her wrists above her head and pushed his forehead against hers, their eyes locked in an intense stare. Abaddon didn't fight his hands away, but rather she writhed underneath him to tell him she wanted more. More of what? She wasn't even sure what the answer to that was, but whatever he wanted to give her, she would accept.

Without speaking, Crowley secured both of Abaddon's wrists with one of his hands, and used his other to reach down and pull her trousers the rest of the way off and remove her boots. The redhead moved her legs upwards, to make it easier, and Crowley moved himself between them. Disliking the fact that her bottom half was naked, and not her top half, Crowley ripped open her black blouse. His mouth found it's way to her neck again, kissing, sucking, biting over the bloody mark he'd left there before. She moaned under his touch, arching her back and squirming against him.

Crowley reached underneath Abaddon to undo her bra, managing it singlehandedly and releasing her arms so he could remove it completely, discarding it to one side along with her shirt.

A vivid glare of hatred was visible in both demons' eyes. Their lips were crushed together once more, tongues wrestling for dominance, teeth singling out their lower lips for attack. With her arms now free, Abaddon reached down and unfastened Crowley's suit trousers, stretching her arm further down so she could push the material down. He realized what she wanted, and knelt between her thighs, pushing down his pants and boxers, leaving himself exposed. Abaddon bit her lower lip.

"Go on, then. Fuck me," she said. "Fuck me like you hate me."

"Oh, but I do hate you. I thought we'd been over this," Crowley replied in his usual arrogant tones, mocking her, belittling her. He leant down over her again, not allowing her to respond, kissing her once, then trailing his tongue from her neck, down, down, down, between her breasts, to her navel, and lower still.

When he reached that warm, hot space between her thighs, Abaddon closed her eyes, tilting her head back and her hips upwards. Crowley let his tongue slide up and down, a neat, precise line of pleasure that he drew so gently. She almost believed that perhaps he didn't hate her, and then he bit her again, his teeth firmly grasping the most sensitive part of her. She cried out in sweet, delicious agony, looking down at him to see he was smirking at her. She rested her head back again, the back of one arm brought across her face so she didn't have to look at him any more.

Crowley unclamped his teeth and blood rushed around Abaddon's nerves, making her wetter and more ready. Noticing this, he pushed his tongue into her, tasting her wetness, and moaning into her. He picked up his pace, his tongue running tight circles, then up and down. The harder and faster he went, the louder she moaned, and it encouraged him to continue. But he had to stop. His erection was pulsing hard, craving her warmth, wanting to fuck the hatred out of her. Moving up over her body, Crowley stopped level with her face and kissed her again. 

She could taste herself on his tongue. 

Moaning into Crowley's mouth Abaddon's hand roamed his chest, his back, pulling him closer, wrapping her legs around him. He entered her then, slowly and gently. She didn't understand why he was being gentle with her now-- she had cuts and bruises just as he did. What difference would a soft touch do at this point in the game? 

His hardened length moved deep inside of her, gently rubbing over that sensitive spot. One of Crowley's hands was tangled in her hair, gently but firmly gripping her, his other hand on her thigh, fingers digging just as hard as Abaddon's were digging into his back. His thrusts sped up slightly, driving into her with just bit more force than before. 

"Harder---" Abaddon orders him, despite the fact that he's holding her down. 

"What was that?" he asks, slowing down, which is the opposite of what she wanted.

" _Harder."_

"Say 'please', then."

"Harder, _please_."

"Now, tell me what am amazing King of Hell I am."

"What!? No!" Abaddon gasped, outraged, but she knew he wouldn't do what she wanted until she said it. "Fine… You're-- an amazing King," she mumbled into his neck begrudgingly.

"Good," Crowley said, and gave in to her desires, which he just so happened to share. He sped up his thrusts into her, forcefully driving his dick home inside of her, over and over, until she was moaning against his neck and her fingernails dug into him harder than before.

He maintained that pace for a while, fucking her hard enough that she got carpet burns.

The redhead barely notice the friction of the carpet on her back, her shoulder blades almost raw with the force he was pushing into the floor with. The heat was building inside of her, her legs tensed up around him. Crowley was fucking her into oblivion and she didn't even care.

But then suddenly, just as she was about to come, Abaddon stopped herself. She did care. Letting out a deep breath, and a sort of growl, she put her hands to his shoulders and shoved him hard-- hard enough that he rolled over sideways, and Abaddon was now straddling him. He was no longer inside her, but she had the upper hand, pinning his wrists above his head like he had done to her. The Knight looked down at him in disgust.

"See. You are weak." She told him, her voice full of malice.

"Shut up, you little whore," Crowley hissed at her, although he was secretly enjoying the power play.

Lowering herself onto him again, Abaddon began to ride him. She took exactly what she wanted, moving to her own pace. She closed her eyes, letting the pressure build again, pleasure mounting between her thighs, in the pit of her stomach. Soft moans came from her mouth, her eyes were flooded with black where she was losing control of herself. Letting go of his wrists, she moved her hands to his chest to steady herself, fucking him harder and harder, her orgasm threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. 

When she came, her head was tilted backwards and her eyes were closed, a few cries of 'Oh, God!' or 'Fuck, Crowley!' were ushered out in a strained voice as she rode out her orgasm.

And when she was finished, she looked down at him, not daring to move in case he hit her again. Not that she'd complain, of course. After a few breaths in silence, Abaddon's hands began to move across his chest, her fingernails scratching lines into him.

The redhead carved the word 'SLAVE' into him in deep red cuts, and she knew he could heal that up until it faded, but he didn't. 

"Are you quite done?" Crowley asked her, the growl ever present in his tone.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed her hard until she fell backwards. She might have come, be he hadn't yet. The King of Hell forced her onto all fours, pulling her ass closer to him. With her face turned away from him, Abaddon let herself smile, a little smile of satisfaction that she was getting exactly what she wanted.

This time, when Crowley entered her, he did not do so gently. He fucked her from behind with hard, punishing, thrusts that were all about him and his pleasure. Abaddon still enjoyed it, of course, and enjoyed hearing the little grunts he gave. She'd tease him about that later. She gasped when he drove his whole length into her as hard and as deep as he could, felt his cock twitch as he came, spurting thick, hot come inside of her. She moaned, feeling him still hard for the moment. She rocked backwards, clenching her muscles tightly around him. He was hers now, she'd taken that much from him. 

Crowley slapped her again, hard across the ass. He made a new handprint, harder than the ones he'd given her before, and Abaddon loved it. When he pulled out of her, she could feel their hot juices mixed inside her,  now starting to spill out. Crowley pushed her away, stood up to retrieve some tissues from his desk, and Abaddon stood up as well. She watched him, her breath still hot and heavy from the fucking, her thighs weak and trembling. 

"Well, goodbye," Crowley said harshly, indicating the door.

"Is that it?" Abaddon laughed, arching an eyebrow at him. She was stood stark naked, didn't even care about covering up, while the King was already texting someone to bring him a new suit. "You can keep those--" Abaddon pointed to her panties which were hanging over the edge of his wastepaper basket. "--As a reminder." She pulled a piece of glass out of her hand and laughed again.

Vanishing from the office, Abaddon returned to her own home to shower and get dressed again. It didn't even take forty-eight hours before Crowley was texting her, asking her to visit him again.


End file.
